I keep thinking about this and it just… gets to me. It happened years ago, but it just sticks in my head, you know? Like a burr. My kid was just a little guy then, probably like six or seven, and my parents were still… well, they were still them, not how they are now. Not so much with the forgettin’ and the fallin’. This was back when my mom still tried to do a big holiday dinner every year, and it was always a big deal, and she’d call and call and remind you, and guilt you if you even thought about not showing up. And I always showed up. Always. But this one year, I just… I couldn't. Not really. I mean, I *could* have. My wife was already there, she’d gone ahead with our son, and I was supposed to meet them. It was Christmas, or maybe Thanksgiving, I don't even remember now, just one of those big ones. And I remember the smell of it, even from the phone – my mom’s house always smells like turkey and onions and something sweet, like pumpkin pie, all mixed together. And I could hear my son laughing in the background, and my dad was probably already half-asleep in his chair, and my uncles were probably already arguing about politics or football or whatever they argue about. And I just didn’t go. I didn’t even call. I just… stayed home. My wife called me, like five times, and then she stopped. And I knew what that meant. She was mad. And I knew my mom was probably saying stuff, like, “Where’s he? Is everything okay? Is he sick?” And my dad was probably just shrugging. And my son probably asked for me, and then just forgot, because that’s what kids do. They forget. What I did instead was, I went to the gym. The old 24-hour one, the one that smelled like sweat and metal. It was empty, of course, because it was a holiday. And I just… lifted. And then I went to the mirror, the big one, the whole wall, and I stood there, and I flexed. And I looked. And I looked again. And I measured my arm with a tape measure I brought from home. Just to see. Just to see if anything had changed. If I had gained anything. Even a little bit. I kept doing it, over and over. Flex, look, measure. Flex, look, measure. For what felt like hours. And I just felt… nothing. Just the same. And I felt like a damn idiot. A total IDIOT. Skipping out on family, on my kid, on my wife, for this. For nothing. For a number that didn’t even budge. And then I just sat on a bench and felt like crying. But I didn’t. Because you don’t cry in the gym. Especially not when you’re alone. My wife, she didn't really talk about it much when I finally got home, late. She just gave me this look. This look like… I don't know, like I was a stranger or something. And I tried to explain, but what was there to explain? "I wanted to see if my arm got bigger"? It sounds so stupid. So incredibly, unbelievably stupid. Like a little kid thing. And I'm not a kid. I was pushing forty then, probably. Maybe even past it. A grown man. A father. And that look, I still see it sometimes. Especially now, when I’m running around, trying to get my mom to her doctor’s appointments, and my dad is just… lost in his own head, and my kids are grown and got their own lives, and my wife is just tired, you know? And I just feel like I’m always doing for everyone else, always trying to fix things, always trying to make it right. And I think about that night, and that gym, and that tape measure, and I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m still looking for something. Something that says… I’m here. I exist. And it’s not just about what I do for everyone else. It’s not just about that. But then, what is it? I mean, I don’t even – whatever. It just bothers me. Still. All these years later. It just bothers me. And I still don’t know why I did it. Why I just… didn't show up.